“Ringer, I want out of here,” I insisted, wrapping my hand around the bed’s safety rail. “Two weeks in a hospital bed are enough to drive someone crazy!”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Ringer came back with a faint grin from the chair he sat in. “Only sane people are in danger of going crazy.”
“That’s not funny,” I told him, rising up onto my knees. “If you can’t talk Val into signing me out then do it yourself, but just get it done! I’ve had enough of this place.”
Ringer’s sharp, black-eyed stare moved to me fast, showing how pleased he was with my tone, but he didn’t answer immediately.
Instead he took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, exhaled smoke in my direction, then got out of the chair.
“Valdon is not going to be signing you out,” he said at last, standing himself right next to the bed. “You’ve been off the pain killers for less than a week, and if you’ve forgotten how badly hurt you were, he and I haven’t. You don’t move out of that bed until a doctor gives his permission, and I don’t care how bored you are.”
The growl in his voice was flat and final, leaving no room for argument, but I’d known Ringer a long time. It’s not always possible to argue with him, but sometimes he’s vulnerable to reason.
